


Who Put These Bodies Between Us?

by dollylux



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shower Sex, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafa just lost to Andy Murray in the semi-finals at the US Open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Put These Bodies Between Us?

It's not as if he wasn't prepared to lose. He had been taught at a very young age that you must always be prepared to lose, no matter your past track record with the other man across the net, no matter how good you'd been playing even the day before, no matter how confident you feel when you start. It only takes one thing, or a series of small things, to turn everything against you, and Rafa knew that he had been given his chance. He knew in his heart that he had earned his loss, that Andy had played better, but the force of the loss almost knocked him on his feet. He felt it like a blow to his stomach. He was still trying to catch his breath as he walked down the corridor that lead to the locker room. His bags anchored him to this earth somehow, his grip on the straps proved it. His eyes were set straight forward, lashes unmoving. During his final serve, he had felt like he was going to cry. He hoped no camera caught the tremble of his chin as he raised his racket to serve one last time. He could still hear the cheers from the crowd, could hear Andy's voice over the speakers in that stadium. He felt a flash of bitterness deep in his stomach: _it should have been me._

He set his jaw even harder, finally entering the locker room. People milled about, press, entourages, only half of which were his own. He firmly avoided their eyes, sending out the message that he did not want to be spoken to. He hadn't even wrapped his head around it yet, he wouldn't know the first thing to say to anyone who tried to console him. He thought back about the match in flashes as he put his bags down, his shirt coming off over his head. He thought about all the shots he had missed on Saturday, about how _exhausted_ he had felt no more than half an hour ago, about how the weight of all the matches of the year came crashing down on him at the absolute worst moment. He had been terrified of a meltdown here in New York, in front of this crowd that had been cheering for him as passionately as any he could remember. He shook his head, pushing past the people with pens and notebooks, with recorders and cameras. He pushed past them all toward the showers, the rest of his clothes trailing behind him until he was naked. He stepped into the shower and turned on the hot water, positioning himself under it and letting it fall hard and burning on his face. He closed his eyes, finally letting tears escape and drown in the water. He drew a ragged, exhausted breath that he let out in an almost childish sob, pressing his forehead against the cool tile. He had lost. He wasn't going to play in the final. He wasn't going to play _Roger_ in the final.

Roger had texted him the night before, and it was clear how careful he had been with his words. _it's not over yet, numero uno. i'm waiting for you. see you on monday. :-)_ Rafa blushed even through his tears when he remembered how he had blushed receiving the message. He felt like he had gotten closer to Roger these past couple of weeks than ever before. They had texted like madmen, late into the night which, Roger had told him with a wicked little smile, Mirka had not been too happy about. After their quarterfinal matches, they had at last talked about meeting in the final. Roger had told him almost shyly how much he was hoping to meet Rafa there, he had told him how much he had been thinking about it. Rafa's dreams Saturday night were haunted with the thought, the hope.

He felt his chest tighten as he thought about it. He gave another sob which echoed loudly in the room. He slammed his fist against the wall of the shower, his teeth gritted painfully. Surely Roger would be disappointed in him. And he wouldn't blame him.

"...Raf?"

Rafa jumped, startled, lifting his head immediately and wiping at his already clean face. When he sniffled, he winced in embarrassment. He knew that voice anywhere.

"Yes, Roger. Is me." He knew his voice sounded wobbly, small. He finally realized stupidly that Roger was showering in the stall next to him. One look up over the tile divider between them proved that. He could see the top of his dark head and the suddenly his eyes as he stood on his tip toes to look down at Rafa from over the wall. Worry shimmered in his eyes. He didn't even have to ask.

"You fought well."

Rafa knew Roger meant it, but he didn't believe it, not for a second, not yet. He shook his head hard, his bottom lip jutted stubbornly as he forced himself not to cry. Not in front of Roger, not over this. He looked down the line of his own body, refusing to look at Roger anymore. If one person in the world could understand how he felt that exact moment, it was him. He couldn't handle the vast emotions that gnawed at his belly when he realized that. Suddenly he felt long fingers slide across the top of his head, the tips of them pushing, pushing until they could slip through the wet strands of it. Rafa trembled under the tiny weight of Roger's hand on his head. He pressed his forehead against the hard edge of the wall between them, the sound of him crying now evident all over the room. They stayed just like that for a long moment, Roger on his tip-toes, arm strained just to touch Rafa, to bring him any comfort he could, Rafa curled against an unforgiving wall that kept him from Roger, hands curled there against it, tears slipping down the drain. When Roger's hand disappeared, Rafa's heart sank. He stayed right where he was, trying to recover from the sudden loss of Roger on top of everything else. The door of his shower stall creaked open quickly, and suddenly he felt the impossible warmth of another body in such a tight little square room. The sound of the lock sliding back sent a shiver up his spine.

Roger pressed against Rafa's back, his arms going around his solid body immediately. He leaned into Rafa, chest against his back, hands splayed on his chest and stomach. He curled around him, face against his neck, his breathing loud and deep and acutely soothing to Rafa. Rafa shook against him, not questioning this for one second, not questioning even if Roger would hold him up if his legs gave out because he knew he would. He knew it suddenly and completely.

"I wanted it to be you so badly. I hope you know that." Rafa nodded, a stuttered movement which dragged his forehead against the wall. His hands pressed flat against the tiles, heart in his throat. He had wanted that, too.

"Are you... disappointing in me?" Rafa sounded so meek in that moment that Roger lifted his head to press his chin against the crook of his shoulder, nestling in until his cheek was against Rafa's. He held onto him even tighter, arms shaking with the embrace.

"Never. You're extraordinary, Rafa. You amaze me every single day. I don't know how you do what you do. I don't know how..." Roger trailed off, overcome by his own words. His hips pressed gently against Rafa, knowing that Rafa could feel him completely. The motion made them both gasp. Roger turned his head to nuzzle him, dropping a tender kiss against Rafa's cheekbone. "It's an honor to even know you."

"Roger..."

"You haven't called me Rogelio in so long. You still can, you know. I always loved that." Roger grinned against Rafa's cheek, his heart skipping when he felt the pull of Rafa's skin that told him he was smiling, too.

"Rogelio." Roger gave the smallest moan against Rafa's cheek, the sound so quiet and intensely sexual that Rafa reacted immediately, his back arching to press back against Roger, the feel of him half-hard against his ass almost too much. "Rogelio..."

Roger was inside of him suddenly, and the feel of him was so perfect, so much more comfort than he could ever know how to ask for from anyone. Rafa pressed even more into the wall, trapping himself in a corner, water spilling down over them, making Roger's hair stick to Rafa's cheek as he kissed at his flushed cheek over and over again. Roger stayed just where he was, not moving, just letting them both get used to this, letting them both get adjusted to this sudden shift between them. He gave him a squeeze with his arms which were still hugging him.

"Is this okay, Raf?"

Rafa nodded fervently, his face knotted up with emotion but thankfully hidden. He felt Roger withdraw slowly and then push back in, his hips doing all the work, such a fluid, perfected movement. He felt so safe just right here, the world on pause for just a moment, the ache in him subsiding temporarily. He was tucked here in warm water and strong arms, his skin now scalded but the burn inside of him was much hotter, much more welcome. One of Roger's hands pressed in firmly low against Rafa's stomach, intuitively rubbing just the spot where Rafa ached the most, the seeming center of his stress and worry and hatred for himself. He felt dangerously close to breaking, just shattering here in the safety Roger had created.

"I'm going to miss you so much. How am I going to get through until Madrid? Until the end of October? Especially after knowing that you feel this good?" Rafa could barely hear these words from Roger, words that came out between pants, between solid, gentle thrusts, words that dug down into Rafa's brain and stayed, words that would stay until they did see each other again. He closed his eyes and let his whole world center on Roger, on just this moment between them. He forgot about the loss, about the final, about New York. His orgasm came quietly, so powerful that his insides shook, tears streaming down his face in tandem, all of it a release. Roger pressed deep inside of him, his voice a shudder against Rafa's ear. When he came it was powerful and burning and hidden inside of Rafa. He kissed obsessively at Rafa's cheek, his arms shaking as he held on to him tighter than ever. Their chests heaved at the same time, pushing them somehow closer together. They didn't move, even when the water turned first lukewarm and then cold. Roger's arms eventually loosened but only to take up petting Rafa again, hands and fingers gliding and stroking and adoring him. They both knew this would end too soon, and that Rafa had to go home, and that Roger had yet another battle ahead of him, but the sanctuary between them had already been built. Nothing could touch them there, not now.


End file.
